Lick the Flame
by Gwen Brunye
Summary: Violet's fantasy involves a blonde boy in shiny black boots... Rated "M" for Violate kinks/smut


She's hiding under the bed, her stomach flat against the floorboards, elbows pressed against her sides. Sweat-drenched hair sticks to her face and neck. A strand is caught in her lashes. She doesn't dare move to push it away. She worries, irrationally, that he can hear her breathing. She's panting heavily after racing from his grasp.

His heavy footsteps begin their ascent up the stairs. He's taking his time and she knows it's because he wants her to hear him. He wants to give her time to anticipate her inevitable capture and punishment.

The footsteps pause when he reaches the landing. He knows she's listening, waiting. Then the stomp of his heavy boots draws closer until they are just outside the door. The knob turns with a squeak. The door opens agonizingly slow, groaning on its hinges. She sucks her breath in. She's sure he can hear her heart pounding against the floorboards.

She watches as black boots cross the room with slow, deliberate steps. They stop at her closet. She hears the clang of hangers being torn from the rod as he tries to root out her hiding place. The thud, thud of his boots trail to her bathroom. He is in no rush. He will find her.

She's sweltering under her confine of the bed, from the heat and the fear, and yet she shivers. The bathroom door bangs open. She hears bottles clatter into the sink. The boots appear again in her view. She watches helplessly as they approach the edge of the bed. They stop.

She stares at the shiny, half-laced boots for what feels like eternity. He knows she's there and he's making her wait. At last the view of his boots is replaced with his knees and then, and with a bizarre sense of relief, she sees his face. Instinctively she tries to push herself back, but in a flash he grabs her hands and drags her out. She screams.

He lets go and she jumps to her feet, lunging towards the door only to be yanked back when his hands catch her shoulders. She stumbles and falls hard. She crawls away from him. Hands on her hips snatch her roughly and pull. Her bare knees scrape against the rug, burning her skin. He pushes her hips hard against the floor, the force of it knocking the wind from her lungs. His boots straddle her body and he peers down at her, his breath heaving. His blonde curls are an anathema to the black he is covered in – pants, sweater, boots and long coat.

He kneels beside her and thrusts one hand against her throat, squeezing just enough to keep her from wiggling. The other hand yanks her skirt up past her hips and roughly pulls her panties down mid-thigh, his nails catching her skin in the process, scratches searing her delicate skin.

With her throat locked in place, she can only watch the indifferent ceiling as he starts to finger her clit. He presses it gently with just the tip of his finger in a steady rhythm, coaxing a response from her hips. The pleasure from this casual fondling is almost painful in its intensity. She whimpers and writhes on the floor to the extent she is able with his grip firm on her throat. His finger slips down further, into her moist folds. He strokes her with a slow touch that is almost brutal in its gentleness. She yearns to grab his hand to push it more firmly against her sex, but she knows better. Her arms remain submissive at her side.

He pushes her thighs apart as far as the confines of her panties will allow and thrusts a finger inside her. She moans, a vibration she feels against his palm on her throat. She closes her eyes as a second finger joins in the steady rhythm and she feels the flame ignite in her core. She is so wet now his fingers glide in and out with ease. Her body relaxes into the floor, following his delicious rhythm. But with no warning the fingers are gone, her cunt seizes. She manages a little cry. He releases the grip her throat and she sucks in a full unencumbered breath.

He stands up and grabs her hands, yanking her to her feet. He lifts her like she's nothing and throws her over his shoulder. He carries her to the bed and drops her like a rag doll. Before she can catch her breath, he grabs her hips and flips her over onto her stomach.

"You know that running away only makes it worse," he says.

He pushes her skirt up higher on her hips. Her panties are still stretched across her thighs. He fondles her bare ass. Without warning a hard slap stings her skin and she cries out. He grabs a fist full of her hair and pushes her face down into the bed as he administers another slap. She whimpers into the blanket, but tries to stay still. Another slap lands firmly on her bottom. Her hips squirm from the sting. His palm comes down against her flesh again. He spanks her six times in quick succession, purposefully smacking the same spot each time until she releases a muffled cry. He lifts her head by his fist of her hair, slams it against the bed, and punctuates the motion with a slap. He pulls her head up again only to slam it down, followed by a slap. He continues this rhythm, pull, slam, slap, pull, slam, slap until her ass burns hot and her brain rattles against her skull.

At last he unravels his fist from her hair. Her skin is on fire, but he is relentless. He grips her hips with one arm to anchor her as he administers more punishing blows. "Tate –" she pleads, breathless, "Tate –"

His open hand pauses above her bruised, apple blossomed ass. "Say you're a bad girl for running away from me," he commands.

"I'm a bad girl," she whimpers.

Smack!

"Say it again."

"I'm a bad girl."

Smack!

"Again."

"Tate – please!"

Smack!

"Again!"

"I'm a bad girl!"

She feels the mattress lift as he releases his hold on her and leaves the bed. At last the beating is over. She slowly pushes herself up, tears streaking her face, hair sticking to her forehead and neck. She can't turn over for the pain, so she carefully lifts herself off the bed and stands. Before she even knows what's happening, his hands are everywhere, undressing her, pulling and pushing all her clothes away. She is pliant in his hands, the pain having released any urge of resistance. In moments she is naked. He is still dressed in black head to toe, contrasting starkly with her pale, naked skin.

He picks her up, his arm under her knees, the other holding her back and gently rests her lying on the bed. She winces and hisses as her punished skin presses against the blanket. He climbs above her and pulls a rope from the deep pockets of his coat. Without a word he ties it in a tight knot around her wrist, pulling it up to the iron headboard. He weaves the rope through it and ties her other wrist tight, the scratchy rope pressing painfully into barely healed scars on her wrist.

He sheds his coat and drops it to the floor before taking her nipple into his mouth. The soft, moist lips enveloping her is a startling contrast to the raw, burning skin that is pushing painfully into the blanket. The insistent tug of his lips on her nipple makes her juices flow. He moves to the other one, darting his tongue against the nub and nibbling it before wrapping his wet lips around the whole. She whimpers as he sucks and nips at her. Each eager pull at her tit draws out her desire.

He sits back against his heels.

"Spread your legs."

She obeys, opening her thighs to reveal the most secret part of her, exposing it to his hungry gaze. She feels the heat rush to her cheeks as she lies vulnerable and open to him, his eyes molesting her. After he indulges in a long, decadent look, he slides down onto his stomach and wraps an arm around each thigh. He plunges his tongue into her wet petals, illiciting her gasp from the sudden moist, pulsing heat on her sex. He laps at her hungrily.

Her hips buck to press his tongue deeper into her folds. He sinks into them, a moan escaping his throat, causing a vibration that makes her squirm. He dances his tongue around her clit and her eyes roll back in her head. He skims the surface of her sex and then plunges deep, repeating the rhythm until she's moaning and begging for more. His tongue presses firmly against her and pulsates there. She feels the delicious swirl and swell of her orgasm building. Two fingers thrust inside now and her cunt clenches them hungrily. They work in and out in rhythm to his tongue circling her clit. Her wrists strain against their binding as she feels the wave rising up to an almost unbearable height. She is panting, moaning for the release.

Without warning he whisks away his warm tongue and pulsing fingers, leaving her cunt empty, throbbing. He climbs off of the bed.

She pulls fiercely against her restraints. "TATE!"

She growls his name with such rage that he pauses to look at her. She kicks her feet against the bed like a petulant child. He responds only with a devilish grin and stoops to pull something from the pocket of his coat.

Heaving with the ache of her throbbing, abandoned cunt, she is only faintly aware of what he's doing. There is something in his hands, a flask of some kind. He pours a clear liquid from it onto the floor and walks backward as he lets it spill in a trail around the bed. A pungent, chemical smell hits her nose and she winces. Her brain clears from her pre-climax fog to name it. Lighter fluid.

He splashes the remainder onto the curtain beside the bed.

"Tate? What are you doing?" her voice trembles. He doesn't answer. His eyes are bright and glossy. He undresses himself with an air of ceremony, until he is naked, his cock hard and ready.

"Tate – "

He grabs the book of matches she keeps on her night table and snaps one against the flint. He holds the lit match between the fingers of one hand as he strokes his cock with the other. He looks at her, smiles, and flicks the match. It flies to the floor, the lighter fluid catching with the sound of a sheet snapping in the wind. The flames greedily follow the path he made.

He jumps onto the bed and quickly releases her from her bondage. He moves between her thighs and plunges his rock hard cock into her. She releases a moan from the depths of her core. Her cunt explodes in ripples of a pleasure that lift her from any rational thought or desire. The flames around them rise and spark. He thrusts, hard and deep, and his moans draw out another wave of cum from her. He turns his head to watch the flames snap and spread along the floor. She feels his cock pulse from the sight of it. He wraps his arms around her then, puts his mouth against her ear.

"Say it," he rasps.

She works to catch her breath against the deep thrusting of his cock.

"Say it, Vi," he whispers, pleading.

She whimpers as another wave builds to its crest.

"Violet, _please_ – "

"I love you, Tate," she cries.

The curtains catch and the flames engulf them. He's coming now, his head thrown back, mouth open, a primal grunt shuddering in his throat. Her ecstasy mirrors his. They buck and scream as the flames lick at their heaving shadows on the wall.

"_Come on, Vi, you promised you'd tell me," he says, pulling her into his arms._

"_No! It's so embarrassing," she protests, pushing her sheepish grin into his sweater._

"_I told you mine," he says, stroking her hair._

"_That doesn't really count," she says, her voice muffled. "I expect yours to be perverted. You're a guy."_

"_It's perverted?" he sighs. "God, now you have to tell me."_

"_Shit!"_

"_Just tell me part of it. How does it start?"_

"_Okay. Well... See, you're wearing these shiny black boots..."_


End file.
